Holmes Academy

Author's note:
I had a dream! Literally. I woke up and I wrote what I had dreamed. It was weird. And okay...do...
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Author's note: I had a dream! Literally. I woke up and I wrote what I had dreamed. It was weird. And okay...do not even remotely copy what I've written please. I'm very protective of this idea, and if I have to go Anne Rice on you I will. :)
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A Full Scholarship

A journal excerpt from Angie Hilversum:

I guess it’s fair to say that I’m not the most ‘normal’ girl. My mom has always said “Angie you just prefer to wear your shoes on the wrong feet”. When I was younger I didn’t know what she meant and actually tried to wear my shoes on the wrong feet. It was actually quite liberating, going against the norm, against what everyone else was doing and what I had always done. But after falling for about the twelfth time that day, my teacher

Can you tell me what you think? About the whole idea, and about what I put on there so far? What about Angie? You like her? Talk to me.

told me to put my shoes on right.
Anyway, I know what my mom was trying to say now. I just naturally go against what others do in today’s society. I enjoy peanut butter and mustard sandwiches. I refuse to use blue pens and always have my yellow galoshes on. I have a rather big obsession with snow globes and can write upside down, backwards and every which way without it having an effect on my handwriting. Those are just to name a few things.
The other thing to know about me is that I go to a school called Holmes Academy. It’s not your average school. It’s a school for…yep, you guessed it, detectives. I was invited to go this year by the Dean himself.
It’s an odd school to say the least. While most kids spend their time on reading and math, we spend it on discrepancy and the art of modern day sleuths.
I guess that’s why I’m going because, well, I’m good at discrepancy and detail. I can spot something out of place a mile away. For instance, if I look at a book shelf and when I’m not looking you shift two books around I will know exactly what you did. Weird huh?
Though it’s a pretty interesting thing, it hasn’t gained me any points with anyone so far. “If your so good at detail,” My mom said after we got back from the school. “why don’t you keep the room clean?” I’m a slob I guess…
Anyway this journal isn’t just about the life of Angie Hilversum, though I bet I could write a best seller autobiography. This is a documentation of Holmes Academy, and what happened there my first year. The year when a boy was murdered and the year three of us really truly knew what it was like to be detectives.

“We’ve never excepted students like this.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Two men sat in a large study, facing each other from opposite sides of a desk. The first man, a tall lean man with graying hair sat behind the desk, sorting a stack of papers. He was the sort of man you forgot the name of as soon as it was told to you. His face left no impression other then that he looked pleasant enough to have a conversation with. The other was a big bellied man with a balding head. His watery little eyes moved constantly and as he sat, as if unable to keep still, he kept tugging on his tiny patch of chin hair.
“It’s just odd.” The bigger man said with a sigh. “This girl, you are so confident that she should be here.”
“When she get’s here,” Said the tall man, not looking up from his papers. “You will see why I called her.”
“Right.” The big man scoffed.
As if on cue there was a knock on the door and a girl and her mother entered. Both men stood up in greeting.
“Are you Dean Ames?” The woman asked, walking up to the bigger man.
Before he had a chance to reply, the girl piped up. “No, he is.” She pointed to the thin man.
“And how exactly do you know that?” The thin man asked curiously.
“Well, the way you are slightly behind the desk gives me some clue.” She squinted at the man. “You don’t really look like a Dean though, so it’s easy to get thrown off, unless you count the stress lines on your forehead.”
“Angie.” Her mother moaned. “I’m sorry for her…bluntness.”
“Oh no.” The thin man waved a hand, as if pushing her comment out of the air. “That’s why she’s here. Please have a seat….and yes, I am the dean.” He gave the girl, Angie, a wink.
Angie and her mother sat in the two chairs in front of the desk. The bigger man took to reclining against the wall behind Dean Ames, with some difficulty due to the size of his backside.
“We became aware of your extraordinary gift a while back.” Dean Ames said pulling out some papers from his stack of many. “You knew who took the money from your school’s safe before anyone else-”
“And I got accused of being the one of taking the money because of it.” Angie growled.
“You periodically get in trouble for back talking teachers.”
“Only because they lie to us.” Angie grumbled, crossing her arms.
The girl’s mother, Mrs. Hilversum interrupted, her face contorted in worry. “You said this was a private school, not a reform school.”
“Oh, this is a private school.” Dean Ames said, putting the papers aside. “Pardon me, but I wasn’t condemning Angie’s behavior, I was commending her.”
Mrs. Hilversum’s eyes widened.
Dean Ames turned to Angie. “This school is a very special school for people like you Angie. For someone who is talented in detail and discrepancy. It’s a school for detectives.”
Angie raised her brows. “Really?”
Dean Ames nodded. “I would really like for you to attend. You’re a very good at reading people. Wit this school you will learn how to do it in a controlled way, and better. And you will learn a number of other studies that detectives need.”
“Holmes Academy…” Mrs. Hilversum said, apparently at a loss for much else to say.
“So…so I can come here?” Angie asked, her voice growing more excited.
“Absolutely.” Dean Ames said. “Fully paid for of course.”
The bigger man in the corner cleared his throat. “Fully paid?” He asked.
Dean Ames glanced at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce you to Mister Gregatim. He is our Crime History teacher and school financial advisor.”
“Hi.” He said, and gave Dean Ames a dirty look. “You didn’t tell me about it being ‘fully paid’.”
Dean Ames ignored him and turned to Mrs. Hilversum. “What do you think?”
“Please mom!” Angie gripped a hold of her mother’s arm. “Oh please!”
“I…” Mrs. Hilversum started. “I do need some more information before I agree to anything.”
Dean Ames pulled out a pamphlet from a drawer under his desk and handed it to Mrs. Hilversum. “This should answer most of your questions.”
“It’s college credited, great study programs…but Angie.” Mrs. Hilversum turned to her daughter. “You’ll be living away from home-”
“There’s time to discuss it.” Said Dean Ames. “The semester starts August 9th.”
“Two weeks.” Mrs. Hilversum sighed.
“Come on mom! This sounds so cool!”
“Yeah…and a little hard to believe.” Mrs. Hilversum looked to Mister Gregatim as if he might help her out.
“Yes, it is unbelievable.” He said, looking at Dean Ames.
Mrs. Hilversum stood up. “Let’s go Angie….we’ll talk about this at home.”
Dean Ames stood up and extended a hand. “It was nice meeting you Mrs. Hilversum.”
She shook it and turned to the door.
“See you in two weeks.” Dean Ames said to Angie.
Angie nodded and followed her mother out the door, Angie ‘pleasing’ at her mother until they were too far away to hear. Mister Gregatim went and slammed the door to the study closed. “Are you out of your mind?” He whirled around to Dean Ames, tottering over a little. “Fully paid? We barely have funding for this school as it is!”
Dean Ames sat back down in his chair. “It’s one student.”
“And what happens when word get’s to other parents that this girl’s schooling is paid for by us! They are going to want free handouts for their kids!”
Dean Ames went back to sorting papers.
“Are you listening?” Mister Gregatim asked incredulously.
“Intently.”
Gregatim sighed. “I understand why you want that girl here. It’s true, she is…gifted. But as your financial advisor, it isn’t the best decision. And how do you know she will benefit the school? Did you see what she was wearing? The students, as weird as some of them are, will see she’s even weirder. Then what happens? Her mother sues you for a bunch of money because of her daughter’s emotional distress. Money we don’t have-”
Dean Ames gazed up from his papers. His face was lit with such a commanding expression that his normally ordinary face was suddenly unforgettable. He was suddenly the person you would never forget.
“I….I’m sorry.” Gregatim gazed down at his feet, or he would have had his belly not been in the way.
“Let me handle the school, the way I am going to handle it.” Ames said, his voice low and threatening.
“Yes sir…” Gregatim muttered. “Sorry.”
Ames’ face regained it’s passive expression again. “She will be good here Gregatim, just you wait.”
“Valedictorian in her future?” Gregatim muttered then looked as if he regretted his sarcasm.
Ames ignored this and gazed up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what will come of it Gregatim. All I know is she belongs in a school that will help her explore the things she can do. Like Sherlock Holmes once said, she can’t go filling her mind’s attic with the unimportant things they teach at those schools.”
“Then one day she’ll be a detective right?” Gregatim huffed.
“That’s all we can hope for with all our students.”
Gregatim shook his head. “I still don’t understand why you want her here so badly.”
Ames smiled, still gazing up at the ceiling. “Neither do I.”

Im trying to rewrite this from a different angle now. The story has kind of gone stale so Im re writing it a little. No worries though, Im still writng it. I love this idea. Sorry I havent posted anything in so long :P